Through the Looking Stone
by ebichu
Summary: A self-reflection proposed by Oerba Dia Vanille during her stay with the Order of Salvation, set during the timeline of Lightning Returns and heavily fixated on Oerba Yun Fang.


The entire basis of it is a minour spoiler to one of the necessary side-quests in Luxerion. The title itself is an allusion to Lewis Carroll's _Through the Looking Glass_.

* * *

Her thin fingers curled around the stoneーthe subtle creases of her palm carefully folding over its smooth surface, as if her crystalized sleep had seamlessly washed away its former calluses, layered atop her flesh as proof of the battles she once fought.

As proof of the time they spent together, smiling.

The veil-clad girl brought her closed hand closer to her chest, her lashes kissing her lower lid as she shut her eyes. _Those days were real_, she had managed to convinced herself, though it would have been better if she hadn't.

After all, for every chuckle that escaped her lips, another soul cried out in agony, desiring yet another laugh of its own; for every moment spent with someone dear, another wallowed in loneliness, having been abruptly torn from its family; for every moment she found peaceーevery moment she found satisfactionーanother's moans dragged her back to reality, hoping its pleas would finally be answered by the lone soul whose ears rang with their voices.

With the skin between her brows wrinkled, Vanille took a deep breathーher lungs filling with the chilled air, charred black by the chaos that swam around her. Their paths were almost systematicalーfinding themselves in an endless loopーyet even so, it was as if each and every flow had its own pattern, with one curving itself around the rightmost pillar and another simply slipping through the nooks and crevices of its gradually weakening foundation.

The longer she observed themーthe longer she listened to themーthe more she realized the already doomed reality:

_Happiness_, as expected, _was something she did not deserve_. Certainly not after all of the suffering she provoked out of her own desire to flee. The sins of her past mistakes were meant to loam over her shoulders as pesky birds, digging their talons into the blades around her neckーuntil she could finally atone for them.

"You already have," The older woman insisted, her ratty hair brushing against the ever-clean surface of her forehead as she stepped forward before placing a hand atop the shorter one's head. It'd been years since the familiar tips of the brunette's fingers rubbed against the fibers of her hair, their cores absorbing the other's warmth; a simple touch alone from her could soothe the pale-skinned girl's worries, the former anxiety nearly instantly sinking down to her feet, before hurriedly escaping out from between her toes, as if it'd never meant to be there at all.

It was a trick with an effect that Fang knew all too well, and graciously took advantage of.

"We supported Cocoon for centuries, remember? Do you know how many more people would have died if we hadn't?" The addressee's green irises met the other's for only a brief moment before she tore them away, her feet shuffling back, leaving the elder's arm to topple back down to her side. Even if she reluctantly submitted this time, the thoughtsーa blend between her own and the deceasedーwould continue to devour her alive.

If the Order that had welcomed her into their family could help her reach the amends she needed, she had no choice but to remain with them.

The corner of her lips would curl into a feigned smile before the believers who queued thoroughly in the cathedral, eagerly waiting to meet the _saint_ so highly preached about amongst the city. With one palm resting atop the back of the other hand, she would bow her head and mumble a small whisper of thanks.

All it took was a simple greeting to restore the citizen's their courage to move forward, and yet with each new face she met, the guilt only further implanted itself within her conscience.

A _saint_, she was not.

Her gaze would follow the metal doors in the evening, anticipating the closure of another day. The lock within their hinges served as a switchーits heavy rumble that signified the end of the visiting period quickly wiping her revolting grin off.

_A_ _saint_, Vanille clicked, _would not endanger others for her own sake_.

…And with her own heart stubbornly fixated on the ritual, she soon found the one person who eased her pain the most gone within the blink of an eye.

Slipping her hand against the back of her skirt, the one-hundred-and-sixty-one centimeter tall girl plopped down atop one of the steps in the centre of the room, her clenched hand held outward once more.

It didn't take her more than a week to realize that Fang had no intention of returning; in fact, if she'd done the same thing a mere millennium and a half ago, Vanille carried little doubt that she would have followed after, frantically scavenging both the plains of Pulseーthe home at which both of their footsteps permanently etched their ways into the soil, tainted with dried bloodshedーand the strange land of Cocoonーwhose winding roads seemed to travel in aimless, endless circlesーwithout a single lead.

Her brows furrowed at the thought. It mirrored what the tanned elder had done for her before.

The sole difference was the rationale behind it:

The more mature Oerban had done so to save the other, while the one whose thighs pressed against the cold granite would have only done so to helplessly save _herself_.

Yet in this dying world, that very same child had grown aware that she had to stop relying so heavily on the one she aged alongsideーthe one she forced to endure even more tragedy on her own, having ran from her transformation to Ragnarok once before.

Her salmon fringe shielded her eyes as she dropped her chin; the indents her nails left glimmering a pale red colour once she reluctantly loosened her gasp, exhaling. The exposed stone portrayed the animated face of the very one she'd waited months for, a grin plastered on her face as she chatted with a young man, dawning a heavy, beige suit and thick mask to match.

It was with this precious item that Vanille came to her conclusion, having spent her free nights hovering over the images it painted: various scenes of the lance-carrying 1,600-year-old trekking across the mounds of sand in the Dead Dunes, always accompanied by several others, or leaning back in her chairーlegs crossedーas she waved people off.

Come every new adventure, the spectator planted her elbows atop her knees with a smile, albeit bitter, and reddened eyes, surely irritated from the salted line of water that built up in their corners.

Her dark orbs would trace the outline of their lips, hoping to string together coherent sentences as they snickered amongst themselves. If the stone had been capable of transmitting sound, she was certain that she'd hear more than a few negative comments in regards to a specific twin-tail wearer.

_"She was a real pain."_ Vanille would chuckle, as if the woman who spoke in the image was directing her silent conversation towards her.

_"She always need me to do the work for her."_

_"She couldn't do anything on her own."_

The hem of her chiffon veil would slide against her drooping shoulders. Such complaints had to have been true.

_Fang loathed the Order of Salvationーthis was a fact she had once stressed so sternly._

Her hands would cup her hips as the priests rambled on about the importance of redemption; her eyes would pierce a hole through the walls every time the Soul Song was mentioned; the voice that slipped out from between her teeth would urger the other to leave, only to stiffen when refused.

_Then as a member of it, certainly she must despise her former friend, too?_

With a weak chuckle, Vanille, snapped her head back, her lids squinted tightly, as though the fragile skin enclosing her eyes could prevent them from leakingーleaking anything that could reminder her of how alone she felt; how isolated she'd become, torn away from even the traveling Sazh and Dahj, or the Snow that once more suffered the fate of a L'Cie.

The absent Hope and prophesied Lightning.

The Serah she'd lead to her death, having been the one who cursed her with the focus in the first placeーhaving been the one to help lead her out of the dream and back into the very same world that would ultimately destroy her.

The heel of her boots clacked against the floor's tile, with the _saint_ having abruptly forced herself back up. Her hand gave the stone a final squeeze before she lowered it back into her pocket, her teeth subconsciously nibbling on her bottom lip.

As long as Fang could be carefree once more, the younger girl didn't mind.

After all, a life of solitude was a small price to pay for the one she loved most to be happy.


End file.
